


People Are Monsters Too

by Doteruna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blind Stiles, Derek to the Rescue, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Mute Stiles, People are Monsters Too, Protective Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doteruna/pseuds/Doteruna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People forget that humans can be monsters too. They can't find Stiles, anywhere, but when they finally do, their dealings in the supernatural pale in comparison to what has been done to their friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He took Stiles right from under their noses. 

Impressive, actually, considering Stiles didn't think the man knew about werewolves. 

He was tall, muscular, and cruel. That was all Stiles knew. He only saw the man when he entered the small room Stiles was bound to a steel chair in; and when he did come in, Stiles was usually in too much pain to notice little details. He was lashed to the chair, with the legs bolted to the concrete floor. Thick ropes tied his hands too tightly behind his back, looped to the back of the chair, and each ankle was secured to the chair legs. A sturdy leather gag filled his mouth, pushing into his teeth, but he was allowed to see.

The man came in again, and Stiles struggled harder. The ropes merely dug into his already-razed wrists. His chest ached from the last beating a few hours ago; because that's all there had been, regular, bruising beatings that left colorful splashes on his skin and scrapes along his torso and arms. The man hadn't touched his face in the two days Stiles had been there. He'd avoided it, actually, but Stiles couldn't think about that now. Not when the man pulled back a fist and let the blows fly.

A day later, and the man had started to get more creative. A knife had come out, deadly sharp and wickedly close to his arteries sometimes. Superficial cuts, then some deeper, and some deeper still. The man continued to ignore his face and head. 

Stiles thought the man carved something into his chest. He wasn't sure, there was too much blood on his front for him to see it clearly. 

On the sixth day, after Stiles had pissed himself three times, the man stripped off his clothing and inserted a catheter. How he got it, Stiles had no idea. But he wasn't fed, just forced to consume a single bottle of water a day. 

He was more imaginative after Stiles bit his hand while he was holding the water bottle. Stiles lost the ability to see, a bandanna wrapped around his eyes, and three of his fingers were broken. On each hand.

By the fourteenth day, Stiles was losing hope. The wolves hadn't come; did they even care?

A few days after that (Stiles was losing count) the man pierced his nipples. Painfully, sloppily, with two crude metal rings forced through the bloody hole. The man attached tiny clamps with wires to the rings, and the wires were hooked to some sort of battery. Stiles heard the man flip the switch a millisecond before electricity erupted through his body.

It was kept low, but present, constantly assaulting his brain as the man continued to beat him and cut him and now, press burning, white-hot brands to his skin, making him shriek in pain. His nipples were infected, he was sure, and he couldn't shake the constant headache pounding away at his forehead and temples. 

On the.....who knew, who cared? Stiles had been there so long. No one was going to come. The man just kept abusing him, and one time, when he removed the gag and Stiles spat out insults, the man hit him with whatever bottle he'd been drinking out of. The glass had shattered, and Stiles felt the hot blood running down his neck and he screamed, but no sound came out. 

Sometime after that, the man came into the room looking so, so angry. Stiles curled his lip, but he wasn't prepared for the blindfold to come off, his head forced into straps that held him facing the ceiling. Long needles pushed into his eyes, and he screamed silently, thrashing, but no one came to stop the soul-shattering agony. 

He didn't need the blindfold after that.

 

Stiles had no clue how long he'd been held captive before sounds came from beyond the door to his room; thuds, the sharp crack of gunfire, and screams. Strong hands on his face, holding him, and words being spoken, but he didn't understand. 

It took hours for him to become aware of the voices, the broad chest he was being held against. A low murmuring in his ear, and another voice, further away, yelling "His eyes! His throat! What did he do to him?" hysterically. He knew that voice, he knew it was Scott, and he could hear the others moving around him, but he stayed curled against what he KNEW was Derek's chest. 

Derek had finally come for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys wanted a second chapter so here you go

It had been a total of two months, one week, and three days since the mysterious man kidnapped him. The Beacon Hills Police Department had given up on him, and the Pack was forced to come clean to John Stilinksi about the whole werewolf thing. It took them far too long to find their Packmate, and Stiles had paid the price. 

Permanent blindness in both eyes, as well as loss of vocal abilities. Both hands were in thick white casts and he had too many stitches to count (as if he could even see them to count them). Derek rubbed cream on his brands twice a day to sooth the persisting burning. Bandages wrapped around four letters carved deep and scarring into his chest, 'MINE'. His nipples had been awkward and uncomfortable to deal with; the doctors could do no more than remove the crude rings and attempt to wash the infection out. They still bled and ached, six days later, and Stiles was still on major painkillers.

He also had werewolves to suck his pain away; Derek hadn't left his side for more than three hours since he tore the kidnapper apart. The Alpha had been uncharacteristically gentle; even as his hands were covered in the man's blood, he had spoken soothinglyl and held Stiles as he sobbed. He spent more time at the hospital than his dad did, and that was saying something. 

Stiles woke up that night whimpering soundlessly, his cast-clad hands flailing before strong arms wrapped around him. Stiles sank into Derek's embrace, wondering for the hundredth time why the older man was being so caring. He wanted to know why. Why was Derek so gentle with him? Why did Derek go so far to save him? Why.......why Derek at all?

But he couldn't say it. He couldn't ask Derek, he couldn't write it down because he couldn't see the paper, and his hands were too broken to hold a pen. All he could do was listen as Derek murmured soft words in his ear, hugging him tightly, laying him back down flat on the scratchy hospital sheets. 

So he laid there and let Derek hum to him and hug him and run long fingers through his hair. He let Derek carry him to the Camaro when he was released, and he let Derek tuck his blankets around his frail, broken body at night. He let Derek kiss his forehead and sleep on the couch downstairs, and he let Derek make him breakfast and change his clothes for him and hold him when the pain got to be too much.

Seven weeks after Derek rescued him, the casts came off. Stiles flexed his skinny, weak fingers and waited until someone pushed a pen and paper into them. Writing from muscle memory, he waited until he and Derek were alone in his bedroom that night to write out "Why?"

Derek chuckled quietly as he pulled the blanket over Stiles. 

"Why? Because I love you, dummy," he whispered, and Stiles blushed and Derek kissed his lips and he KNEW-- Stiles knew that he loved Derek too.


End file.
